Tangled Up in Ficlets
by justadram
Summary: An ongoing collection of drabbles and ficlets, focusing on Rapunzel/Eugene. Romance, Humor, Angst.
1. Balancing Act

**Title**: Balancing Act

**Prompt**: road trip

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: Eugene/Rapunzel

**Rating & Warnings**: PG-13 for one naughty word

**Word Count**: 499

**Summary**: The prospect of a road trip makes parents and Eugene alike nervous.

* * *

><p>Balancing Act<p>

It's a balancing act. Balancing concern with the recognition that she needs to explore and experience the world around her. He struggles with it. Her parents struggle with it. Rapunzel has been constrained by false concern before. Theirs is real, but the result would be the same: keeping Rapunzel locked up. And that's something no one wants.

"I'd like to go."

The King and Queen look at each other and Eugene can see worry etching lines on their faces that time has not.

A letter arrived not so long ago. Full of threats against the Returned Princess. Demanding money. There's always a desperate person looking to profit. Most of them don't even have a good excuse.

He should know.

"Eh, it's not that great." He shrugs, looking totally bored by the prospect. Islands, tropical drinks, beaches: who cares?

It's worth a try, but her face is set with determination, when she retorts, "You said it was _fantastic_."

"And you chose to listen to me about _this_?"

The King clears his throat. "Will you agree to take the Captain with you?"

Eugene can't stomach the prospect of his girl on holiday with the Captain, so before she can respond he says with deep resignation, "If the Princess really wants to go, I'll take her. I've been dozens of times."

"You'd do that?" she asks, the pitch of her voice rising with her excitement.

"Sure. I can work on my tan." Of course, he'll be sick to death every time she skitters out of sight over a tall dune or under a wave. Fully aware that seeing to her safety is entirely up to him. And that there are a lot of sick fucks in this world.

Fully aware that he can't stand to lose her. That's what he has in common with the King and Queen.

She probably won't want to carry a frying pan around the beach, unless he can convince her that's how people make sandcastles.

She turns her gaze on her parents for permission. Half a beat goes by and he wonders whether they won't be able to stomach it this time. If they'll need to keep her a little closer to home for their own sake. Then the Queen gives a small, nervous nod.

Of course, he could think of ways to entertain her without her ever having to leave the comfort of the palace, where she's safe. But Rapunzel is stubborn. And it's a balance after all. He's as addicted to her kisses as he is the light that seems to illuminate her face every time she discovers something new. There should be a lot of that when she sees the ocean for the first time.

"Well then, I guess you know what that means," he says, reaching over to scoop her frog from her shoulder before she shakes him loose with jumping.

"What?"

"Roadtrip."

And there it is: the smile that makes all the worry worth it. The smile Gothel never got to see.


	2. Gazing Forward

**Title**: Gazing Forward  
><strong>Prompt<strong>: storm  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s)**: Rapunzel/Eugene  
><strong>Rating &amp; Warnings<strong>: T for innuendo  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 527  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Rapunzel, however, gazes forward transfixed. That's what's saved her.

* * *

><p>Gazing Forward<p>

A flash of lightening illuminates the outline of her kneeling on the chair. She's even smaller than usual all curled up and her bare feet are tucked under her white shift. Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she peers out the window, the rain painting rivulets upon her face in reflection.

He rolls onto his side and pats the bed. "Hey beautiful, come back to bed."

Her fingers grip the windowsill as she enthuses softly, "I love the rain."

This is more than rain: this is a storm. A noisy one, and it's early in the morning and he'd rather be asleep. The only consolation is that he's within these walls and not outside hunched under some rocky overhang getting soaked to the bone.

He hates the rain. It reminds him of soggy boots and hacking coughs that linger for months. The life of a dashing outlaw isn't as glamorous as he sometimes makes it out to be when he's entertaining his wife with stories.

He waits to see if she'll abandon her post and then rolls onto his back once more, his arms flopping out wide at his side. "You only like the rain because you've never been caught out in it." She's danced in the rain and splashed in puddles, but she's never been trapped in it without a choice. There's a difference, which he knows from personal experience.

He casts a look at her sideways and sees her fingers playing with the iron latch on the window. "Don't think about opening that." There's a chill in the air and he's worried about more than just losing a night's sleep if she gets herself wet.

"Don't be so grumpy, Eugene."

He's seen her stick herself out a window before, arms stretched out with palms facing up to catch the rain as it fell. He imagines that's how she experienced rain before. Before he stumbled upon her in her tower.

The thought makes him slide from the bed and come to watch the rain over her shoulder in silence, his hands resting on the back of her chair. A crack of thunder makes him wince inwardly though he remains outwardly composed, evoking memories like the stab of hunger after a couple of days of going without. Rapunzel, however, gazes forward transfixed.

That's what's saved her: her ability to stare things in the face and never look back, to take pleasure in the things that were denied her before without letting bitterness dampen her delight.

He reaches over her and unlatches the window before hefting it open. Raindrops immediately begin to spatter them, but they won't be lingering here long enough for her to get wet. He scoops her up in his arms, and her hands clutch his shoulders as he pauses to kiss her brow.

"You'll hear it better now," he promises, as he strides back to their bed.

And perhaps he can think of things they can do to wile away the hours as the storm batters the palace's walls and rain pours in through the window. Things which upon later reflection might make him as fond of the rain as she is.


	3. A Series of Questions

**Title**: A Series of Questions  
><strong>Prompt<strong>: sultry  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s)**: Eugene/Rapunzel  
><strong>Rating &amp; Warnings<strong>: PG-13 for innuendo  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 100—bam!  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Rapunzel asks questions of those around her. Eugene has only one question to add.

* * *

><p>A Series of Questions<p>

"Do you want to go to the Snuggly Duckling with me?"

"Who is that lady?"

"Why can't he keep his hands off her?"

"Can I speak with you, Mother?"

"What does sultry mean exactly?"

"Is the cook terribly busy?"

"Would it be all right if I borrowed this cast iron pot?"

"If I fill it up with water, do you think someone can help me carry it upstairs?"

"Are you sure I haven't taken too much of your firewood?"

"What do you think, Pascal: more steam?"

"Could you run find Eugene?"

"_Why the heck is it so hot in here?"_


	4. Tricks

It was a mistake to ever tell her about All Hallow's Eve. Blondie has a history of overdoing holidays. To be fair, Blondie has a history of overdoing everything. I'm game, when it's kissing, but when it's jumping out from behind corners, vases, and potted trees, I'm less enthusiastic, because I happen to be her favorite target.

"Why don't you try scaring Maximus?"

"Because it wouldn't be as much fun."

"Sure it would. I can't think of anything more fun. I'll even help."

She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose. "No, scaring you is so much better. You make this face," she explains, opening her eyes wide and flaring her nostrils. "And sometimes you make this little squeaky noise. Like a mouse."

I cross my arms over my chest. It's a good look for me, and I need for her to understand just how little her tricks affect me.

"I've never made that face in my life and my voice is much too deep and manly to sound like a mouse."

Blondie has the trick part of trick-or-treating down. Of course, her tricks consist entirely of jumping out at me and screaming, boo. It doesn't sound particularly scary, but let me tell you, after the fiftieth time, you'd be on edge too.

"Look, you're obviously very skilled at tricks. You deserve a certificate in tricks. Nut you're forgetting the other important part of All Hallow's, and it seems to me like you should probably spend the rest of the day devoted to what you've so painfully neglected thus far."

She rocks on her heels, narrowing her eyes at me. "Is this a trick?"

"Does this _look_ like a trick?" I ask, pulling a brightly colored hard candy from my pocket, wrapped in delicate paper. I have five more in a rainbow of colors tucked away in case this lone example doesn't convince her to put aside her tricks.

She tilts her head and bites her lip. "Candy?"

"Yep, candy. This holiday is as much about stuffing yourself with candy as anything else. I've got a big box of these in my room."

She reaches out and walks two fingers over my palm before wrapping them around the candy. It's unwrapped and popped in her mouth before I can count to three.

Candy puffing out the side of her cheek, she says knowingly, "If I spend the rest of the day eating candy, I'll have a stomach ache."

We've both overindulged and ended up clutching our stomachs in agony. Fear that it's all going to be taken away if we don't grab it quick enough is something of an Achilles heel for the both of us.

"Well, I don't want the box to go to waste, so I'd be willing to help."

She sucks the candy, making her lips purse. "Aren't you watching your figure?"

I roll my eyes. You can't be too careful about what you say around Blondie. She doesn't quite see the value in keeping secrets.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out the rest. "There's chocolate too."

Her face lights up and she slips her arm through mine, dragging me down the hall towards my room.

Of course she agreed. She melts just like chocolate for me. Every time.

"Eugene."

"Yes?" I ask, looking down at her with my most winning smile.

"Boo!"

I don't jump. Don't ever let her try to convince you I jumped.


	5. The Popular Kid and the Nerd

**Note**: AU Fic, tumblr prompt fill

School only requires two things: practiced detachment and a charming smile for when you sleep past first period.

No one is enthusiastic about high school. Except Rapunzel. Apparently she didn't get the memo, which I could swear was delivered over the PA on the first day.

She throws herself into every lame school project that the teachers throw at us. Dressed like Christopher Columbus in World Civ on Columbus Day and then gave a speech about the oppression of native peoples that ended with her flopping on the floor like she was dying of smallpox. She willingly entered the talent contest and did a ventriloquist act with a frog puppet. There was that time she stood on a round top in the cafeteria to talk passionately about animal abuse. She sings songs from musicals, while working in the hood during Chemistry. She wears a beret in French class.

She is such a nerd. It's embarrassing really. I'm genuinely embarrassed for her, when she's working so hard at everything and I'm perfecting the art of getting by.

But it's not only a jaunty chapeau she's enthusiastic about donning every first period. Rapunzel throws herself into kissing in the French style too, and that's something worth waking up early for.


	6. Lab Partners

**Note**: AU Fic, tumblr prompt fill

"If we add this to the solution, it will blow up!"

She looks practically enthused with the prospect, her voice rising, as she waves around the test tube. She's cute, but clearly deranged.

"Let's not do that then."

"It could be fun," she says, wiggling her brows above her owlish chemistry goggles.

Everyone else has grabbed the cooler, hard plastic goggles, but Rapunzel has on the old rubber ones with an elastic strap that keep her from having to push the goggles repeatedly up her nose. Form over function, she said with a shimmy.

"You know what would be fun? Getting me that A we discussed."

"Grades aren't everything, Eugene."

"Finn. I told you to call me Finn."

She frowns, clicking the striker with an intensity that makes Eugene's attention fix on the test tube that apparently could blow them up. "I know you did, but your underwear says Eugene."


End file.
